Cult Classic by Sloane Crosley
Did it suck? Unequivocally, yes.
I got this book on sale for $5 brand new. Maybe the old adage about getting what you pay for is true. In any case, I would like a refund.
I DNF’d this book on page 85. That was about 2 months ago. And I am still angry about how bad this book is.
Another bookseller once said that they “didn’t want to spend any more time with those people” in reference to the characters in a book (one that, by the way, I had enjoyed). My, oh, my how that phrase rang in my head while I was attempting to read Cult Classic.
A little about me: I used to be a not-super-great person. (Were she to read this review, I’m sure Ms. Crosley would say I am still not.) I was selfish, manipulative, drunken, impulsive, and vaguely shitty. In short, I was in my 20s. But I still had some wonderful qualities. I was funny, clever, optimistic, energetic, eager to try new things, and decidedly less shitty to (most) the people I considered my friends.
Lola had none of those qualities, save for her cleverness, which she seemed to use only to ridicule others and deflect valid criticism of her character. And she didn’t even have the cover of youth to hide behind. No, Lola is a fully grown-ass woman in her (very) late 30s about to get married to a remarkably kind and well-adjusted man.
For some reason, she seems to find it more alluring to drunkely and covertly flirt with her (incredibly boring) exes while gallavanting around New York with her equally terrible friends exuding more main character energy than Lena Dunham on cocaine.
The whole time I was reading it, I felt all the worst parts of myself reflected in the pages. All the good parts were edited out or never there. Yes, the novel had a few hilarious good one-liners and heart-wrenching pangs of “what ifs” and “how comes” (even in the short 85 pages I was able to stomach.) But Jesus Christ, I could not stand these people. I did not want to spend any more time with them.
Had I attended some pretentious Lower East Side party and met any of these characters (other than Lola’s fiance, whom she calls “Boots,” because she’s the kind of asshole that has to trivialize her partner to feel better about herself), they would have become an inside joke, a sort of short hand for “you’re being an egotistical prick.”
Maybe there was a redemption arc in there. Maybe Lola figured it out. Maybe her insufferable friend Vadis got hit by a train. Maybe “Boots” saw the light and left Lola to her bullshitery. Maybe. I’ll never know. All I need to know is that this book sucks.
And it sucks that it sucks, because the writing is really good. It truly is. The characters are just so, so, so horrible. The worst part is that they believe their own bullshit, and the book wants us to believe it, too. It’s not some “look at how rotten these oblivous, out-of-touch, caricatures-come-to-life are” framework. It’s not played for laughs. This is not an okay way for people to act, but their behavior is presented as totally fine and even universally relatable. Too bad for anyone who isn’t them, I guess. Sucks to suck, everyone else!
If you’d like to know if your book sucks, all you have to do is ask. I promise I’ll read the whole thing.
